


Embracing the Unexpected

by OnceUponAWhim



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-06-14 01:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15378021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnceUponAWhim/pseuds/OnceUponAWhim
Summary: "Life's under no obligation to give us what we expect." [Lucy/Wyatt, post-season 2]





	1. Prologue: A few years from now

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to all who left lovely comments on 'Many Happy Returns?' :) Thanks to _qwertygal_ for the assistance.
> 
> And here's hoping these heliclockters today light a fire under some production studio's butt #SaveTimeless

 

Life's under no obligation to give us what we expect."  
― Margaret Mitchell _, Gone with the Wind_

**A few years from now...**

Lucy adjusts the throw pillow behind her back and grimaces, peering down past her stomach towards her bare feet. Well, she grumbles inwardly, at least they're not too swollen today on top of the heartburn currently searing its way up her esophagus.

She's uncomfortable and so pissed off at herself for forgetting a new bottle of antacids when she was running errands earlier. And she's grateful that Wyatt offered to make a Tums run now – the fruity, chewy kind, specifically (it's important, no matter how much Wyatt rolls his eyes and tries to tell her otherwise) – instead of her having to drag her heartburn-y self back out, but she's still mentally cursing him for taking so long, and she's really just not sure how she's going to survive another three and a half months of this; she needs it to be over. Like yesterday.

But as soon as those negative thoughts cross her mind, she's chastising herself and feeling oh-so guilty for griping about any part of this experience. She  _wanted_ this;  _they_  wanted this, and  _so_ badly. For years.

It had taken a while for them to even be in a position to try, given, you know,  _everything…_  and by the time they had, she'd already been thirty-seven. When thirty-eight had showed up and still nothing, they'd made the jump to agonizing rounds of endless doctors' appointments and ultrasounds, shot after shot to the abdomen, not to mention the horrible ones that Wyatt had had to stab her in the ass with. And then the even bigger, gigantic, foot-long needles going places that no needle ever had any business going. Plus the side effects of the drugs and the painful recoveries after the procedures.

The elation of that first positive, only to find no heartbeat later.

The second and third attempts not even working at all.

But this one. This one stuck. And they're both over the moon.

Which is why Lucy  _hates_  hating any part of the experience, but holy crap, child, she pleads silently while pressing a hand to her burning chest, could you lay off the indigestion for a couple nights here or there?

She props herself up a little higher and then lets that hand fall to her rounded stomach instead, and gives it an apologetic little rub. It's not the kid's fault; she'll survive. Wyatt shouldn't be that much longer.

And the heartburn actually wanes a little with her new position, so Lucy lets her eyes close; if she can manage to doze off, it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. Sleep is good. Sleep is always appreciated, because it's just going to be that much more sparse in a few-

"Mommy?"

Lucy's eyes fly back open and focus just to her left. She's greeted by the sight of a mop of sandy golden hair and big blue eyes peering at her from just next to the couch. "Hey, buddy," she murmurs with a weary smile. "You're supposed to be in bed. What's wrong?"

Unfortunately, those big blue eyes are a little tearful, and just so happen to be accompanied by a trembling lower lip as their little owner asks shakily, "Will- will my baby brother be your favorite?"

"What?" Lucy asks, confused as she leans up on an elbow to better address the little boy. "What do you mean? And the baby could be a sister," she adds.

The mention of his brother potentially being a sister does nothing to dissuade the little guy's inquiry. "Will you love my baby brother or sister most?" he repeats, bottom lip still quivering and eyes still shiny. "Will you like them better than me?"

The gravity of the question finally sinks in for Lucy. "Oh, baby, why do you think that?" she asks, her heart aching at the fact that he might think that. "No," she assures him, "no."

"But the baby is in- is in your tummy and I came from Jessica's tummy," he sniffles, one stray tear slipping out. "Not yours."

Lucy sighs and regards her son affectionately. She and Wyatt had wondered if this might come to a head when they broke the baby news to him earlier that day, but he'd been so excited and happy at the prospect of a sibling that they'd figured they'd dodged the bullet.

Apparently they'd been a little premature in that thinking.

She pulls herself up to sit on the edge of the couch and tugs the child closer so she can level with him. "Buddy, I'm still your mom. Just like I'm the baby's mom. I love you both so much," she insists, gently wiping the tears from his cheeks, and adds, "exactly the same amount."

He seems to accept that explanation, at least momentarily. But after rubbing a chubby fist at his eyes, he pipes up again, sounding far more reflective than one might expect of a 4-year old. "Why isn't Jessica my mommy? If I came from her tummy? Did she- did- she didn't want to be my mommy like you're the baby's mommy?"

Lucy's eyes slip closed as she takes a deep breath. They've been over similar questions a number of times before, but apparently the notion of a new baby has prompted a new version of them. Not that it was ever comfortable to talk about, but she and Wyatt had long ago decided that they were going to be nothing but up front with him about who had actually given birth to him. Though that doesn't mean they're comfortable being 100% honest yet about the 'why' of the situation; for one, they don't necessarily know what Jessica's thought process had been back then, and two, a narrative that's a little more warm-fuzzy than what was likely reality feels like the best option for explaining at this stage of his life.

With a soft sigh, she regards the boy once more. "She…" Lucy contemplates the best way to articulate the explanation they'd already given him multiple times."…loved you so much that she knew it was better for me to be your mom. That's why she gave you to me and Daddy."

That earns a solemn little nod, and a contemplative silence interrupted only by a couple small sniffles. "Was Daddy always my daddy?"

With a soft smile, Lucy reaches to ruffle his hair, confirming, "You know that one, bud. Yes."

But, baby blue eyes wide and ever-inquisitive, he adds the classic, "Why?"

"Because he was married to Jessica," Lucy explains, despite knowing that he already knows all of this.

"But he liked you better, right?" he asks.

Lucy can't help but smirk at that simplistic (and very clearly Wyatt-influenced) view of everything that had gone down almost five years ago. "Yeah," she confirms with a soft chuckle.

His voice a little shakier this time, he speaks up once more, "Jessica went away and left me?" He sniffles again.

And oh, for all that the woman had put Wyatt through, Lucy still hates Jessica most for being the cause of this kind of questioning and doubt in the poor kid's mind. "Yes," she confirms gently. Still, she can't allow herself to be too upset at how things had played out; had Jessica  _not_  left him as a baby, Lucy wouldn't be in the position she's in today, being the mother that has the privilege of raising him.

He just echoes the tried and true little kid line of questioning. "Why?"

Because she was a horrible psycho, brainwashed by my own mother's evil organization, and she only got pregnant with you in the first place so she could manipulate your father and hurt me, but then couldn't be bothered by you once you were born because you would have interfered with her plans to help said evil organization take over the world by time travel, Lucy replies in her head, allowing herself a touch of cattiness.

Except she certainly can't say that to a 4-year old.

"…She was friends with some mean people," Lucy explains, trying to be diplomatic and phrase it just so for his current level of understanding, with a smidge of what was probably a white lie. "And the mean people made Jessica do some bad things. She knew it wasn't good for a little baby like you to be near mean people and bad things. She still loved you."

That earns a little nod of acceptance before, "Where did she go?"

"We don't know, baby," Lucy replies honestly.

"Will she come back?" he asks.

Lucy shrugs sympathetically. "We don't know that either."

And they really didn't. With time travel having been in the mix, who knew where, or when, Jessica had ended up.

He thinks for a beat, then asks quietly, another tear slipping out, "Will she take me away?"

Forget heartburn, Lucy feels nothing but heartbreak at such a question. In spite of Jessica having signed away parental rights, it's still a possibility that, maybe irrationally, haunts Lucy every day.

"We won't let her," she promises, her own eyes tearing up.

She's ever so grateful that that seems to be the last of the tough questions; the next thing she knows, she's ended up with his arms wrapped around her (widening) midsection, his little face pressed to her stomach as he declares, "I'm glad you're my mommy."

Lucy blinks back the threatening tears with her own sniffle, hugging him close. "Me too."

She just holds him like that for a minute or two, until his small voice breaks the silence. "Will you tell me the story? Of how you and Daddy got me?"

"Sweetie, it's late," Lucy chides softly." You know that story, and you're supposed to be asleep in bed already. We already read the Winston Churchill book."

But he pulls away from the hug and looks up at her with wide, puppy-dog eyes. "Please?"

And dammit all, but she's never able to resist those eyes, not on Wyatt, and certainly not on the kid, especially when he'd actually said 'please'.

With a wry sigh at how much of a pushover she is, and at how much worse it will be when there are two of them (three, if you count Wyatt too) ganging up on her, Lucy leans back to her original position on the couch and pats the small space next to her. "C'mere."

That earns her a gleeful grin as he scrambles up over her legs to tuck himself between Lucy and the back of the couch. Once curled up against her, he reaches out to poke her stomach, then asks almost reverently, "The baby is here?"

Lucy nods, stifling the laugh that threatens, because she's been obviously pregnant for a few months, but, until they'd told him earlier that day, his little 4-year old mind had remained blissfully oblivious to the fact that his mother was swelling up like a balloon. "That's why my tummy is getting bigger," she explains, "to let the baby grow."

He regards her bump thoughtfully, then wonders aloud, "Can the baby hear us?"

"I think so," Lucy nods, smoothing his hair as he leans over her stomach.

Lucy bites back another laugh at the exaggerated stage 'whisper' of "Hi baby!" that gets directed at her midsection. Then he settles in, asking, "The baby can hear my story too?"

"Yeah," Lucy nods, before correcting him with a soft smile, "and it's  _our_  family story, bud. All of us."

**TBC...**


	2. A few months from now...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So those dang heliclockters DID end up doing something useful! I have many mixed feelings, because of all the things that could have happened, I didn't actually expect it to be NBC that did anything. I would have loved a full season elsewhere, but I'll take the two hours. At least it'll hopefully keep our little corner of fic-world going through the holidays :) And they'll save Rufus :) AND there will be Lyatt reconciliation. There WILL be. :)
> 
> Thanks again to  _qwertygal_  for the help, from some content ideas to finding silly typos.

 

**A few months from now…**

Lucy stormed past Agent Christopher down the hall, still seething over the utterly helpless feeling that Emma and stupid Rittenhouse kept leaving her with. "This is getting ridiculous," she exclaimed as she flung open the door to the bedroom, "it's-"

"-like every time she activates a sleeper, she's also dropping off another one that pops up 20 years later." Wyatt finished, hot on her heels as he followed her to their room. "How do we get ahead of this?"

"I don't know," she wailed in frustration. "And she must be training another pilot," she added pointedly. "You know she is, especially after you hit her in…" she trailed off, the slew of time jumps having become such a blur lately. "When was that?"

Wyatt let out a weary sigh as he closed the room's door behind them. " '28."

Lucy looked around helplessly, not that she expected an idea to suddenly pop out of the ether in the small room that Connor Mason had generously offered up to them when both she and Wyatt had balked at the notion of the two of them living together in the same space he'd shared with Jessica. She just  _hated_ feeling so outmatched by Emma. "We need another strategy," she murmured, brow furrowed. "We can't just-"

"Hey," Wyatt interrupted her gently. "We're not going to figure it out this second. What we  _need_  is to get out of these clothes and take a shower," he pointed out, nodding down at himself and then giving her a once-over.

Lucy couldn't help but smirk and lift an eyebrow in his direction. Granted, she admitted to herself, glancing down at the sopping wet, muddy mess that her gauzy white peasant dress had become, they did most definitely need to clean up after the chaos that had been Woodstock. But considering the way Wyatt had been eyeing her since he'd realized that the outfit that she'd 'borrowed' had been rather authentic in its lack of bra, particularly since the rain had started and left even less to the imagination, she was quite sure that his motives weren't purely about cleanliness.

"And I think it's important that we conserve water," he continued, smirking right back as he reached for her hip and tugged her closer. "So I'm pretty sure we should share the shower. For the Earth."

So she'd been right. Not that she was against his line of thinking. Not even a little. Though she didn't let him know that right away. "For Earth?" she mocked lightly. "How very '60s of you."

Wyatt just chuckled in return and pulled her flush against him. "You disagree?"

"No, no," Lucy grinned, looping her arms up around his neck, ever so grateful that he was so good at distracting her and keeping her calm when her mind started to run away with things. "I'm very pro-Earth," she assured him, leaning up on her toes to press a kiss to his lips.

She'd meant to keep the kiss a quick teaser before the main event of the shower, but Wyatt didn't seem satisfied with keeping it particularly short; Lucy shivered at the chill when he ran his hands up the wet fabric of the back of her dress, then around to the front to cup the weight of her unsupported breasts. She whimpered into mouth, pressing her hips to where she could already feel him beginning to swell under the fly of his bell-bottom jeans.

The debate in Lucy's mind between holding out for the shower and just stripping him down right there was just beginning to lean in the direction of staying put when, from the small bedside table, Wyatt's phone buzzed to life with its tinny ringtone.

Lucy pulled back from the kiss reluctantly, breathless.

Wyatt, taking some deep breaths of his own, cupped her jaw, letting his thumb stroke her cheek. "I'll get that, you get clothes," he instructed with a grin, "then I get you in the shower."

Instead of immediately turning to gather up clean clothes and their shower totes, Lucy couldn't help but let her gaze linger on him, biting her lip as she watched him absently adjust the front of his jeans as he strode over to the phone. Of course, he caught her staring just as he scooped up the ringing phone and shot her a cheeky eyebrow wiggle and nod down to his crotch.

She flushed a little, grinning to herself as she turned to rifle through their meager selections of clothing and he answered the call with a relaxed, "Hello?"

Lucy could hear him sound a little confused, as he confirmed, "Speaking," to whoever it was that was on the other end of the line, but she paid little attention as she tugged a pair of boxers from the drawer for him.

Jeans for both of them followed, then she snagged underwear and a bra for herself, in spite of how much of a fan of the '60s look Wyatt had seemed. She'd just moved on to pulling out shirts when she registered the sound of Wyatt stammering incoherently.

"You- What? No-"

Curious and a little concerned, Lucy paused the hunt for a t-shirt for him, and turned to face in his direction.

Not ten seconds ago, he'd been flushed in anticipation of a frisky shower.

Gone was that heated pink of his cheeks; he was white as a sheet, looking like he'd seen a ghost.

Lucy frowned, abandoning the drawer of clothes to stand.

She saw him swallow hard and croak out, "Yeah, I can come."

She crept closer to him, worried. Still slack-jawed and pale, his gaze finally met hers as he swallowed hard again, asking, "Just the test, right? I don't want to see-" He paused for a second, then nodded grimly. "Ok."

And then he hung up.

His gaze dropped down to the now-silent phone and he shakily lowered himself to sit on the edge of the bed, muddy damp jeans and all.

The wordless seconds that followed felt like an eternity to Lucy, until she couldn't stand it. "What?" she whispered, fearing whatever it was that could have rattled him so much.

It was still another beat or two before he was able to reply.

"Jessica had a baby," he finally answered, sounding so numb as to be practically catatonic. "My name is on the birth certificate and she bailed. In the wind."

The words felt like a physical assault; Lucy's whole body tensed and she simply couldn't wrap her mind around the concept. "…I-  _What_?" she breathed incredulously. Her mind raced. Jessica  _what_?

It was then that Wyatt drew his gaze up to meet Lucy's, eyes already shiny and red.

She sucked in a sharp breath.

Numb stupor gone, he was on the verge of tears as he whispered shakily, "I thought she was lying."

Between the news itself and seeing Wyatt so broken, Lucy's reaction was visceral, a physical ache in her chest and a very real urge to vomit. Not to mention that somewhere in there was the fleeting, nonsensical thought that Wyatt is no longer allowed to go near his phone when they're together.

She simply didn't know how she could or should possibly react. But with Wyatt's lip quivering and tears streaking down his dirty, stubbly cheeks, autopilot took over and Lucy sank down onto the rickety cot next to him, wrapping her arms around him.

Wyatt sobbed as he clung to her, and Lucy herself couldn't keep her own weeping at bay, though she pressed her face to his shoulder to hide.

Why?  _Why?_  Why now? Why this? Why, when they'd just finally been able to move on together in a healthy way, did  _this_  have to happen?  _Why?_

Her heart was breaking. For Wyatt, for herself, for  _them_. And for the innocent child that had just unknowingly wreaked havoc on their precariously blossoming relationship.

But the child had to be the most important thing here, Lucy reminded herself reluctantly. For as much as she'd been reaping the benefits of Wyatt's efforts to prove his love to her, if this was all true, she could no longer claim that top spot in his life.

As petty and useless as it was, she mentally cursed Jessica yet again for thrusting them into yet another impossible situation.

Easing herself away from Wyatt, Lucy sniffled and cleared her throat. For as much as she'd rather wish the whole situation away, they –  _he_ , really – had to be practical. She blinked hard to clear the fog; what was it she'd heard him mumble on the phone?

"Test?" she asked tentatively.

Wyatt sniffled as well, nearly choking on the phlegm as he wiped his nose and attempted to answer. "I have to go, uh, for a blood test," he explained in a gravelly voice, heavy with further unshed tears. "Paternity. Apparently we're not the only ones who don't trust her," he added, attempted a wry, half-joke that fell flat.

"…oh," Lucy replied, her own voice hollow. Of course. "Ok." And for the briefest of seconds, she allowed herself the fleeting hope that it – the  _baby_ , she mentally corrected, which sounded like such a foreign concept in the context of their current lives _–_ wasn't actually his. And immediately felt guilty for being selfish. She shook her head, trying to focus on the situation at hand. "Now?"

"To get it over with," Wyatt mumbled, nodding weakly.

Lucy sat, frozen, still trying to grapple with this new reality, still trying to process what this would mean for Wyatt. And still trying to be strong for him. Practical. And practical meant that, if nothing else, he still had to get up. Go. Find the hospital. Or whatever. "You should go shower then," she pointed out numbly.

Sniffling once more, and following it up with a deep breath, Wyatt reached to grip her hand. "Come with me?"

Lucy balked. He had to be in shock to still suggest that they just resume their shower plans right where they'd left off. As if they needed to be doing the thing that could lead to a child when he already potentially had one out there. And if he did, who knew where that would leave their relationship anyway, she wondered dismally. No, he needed to just get ready and go start to deal with this new phase of his life. She started to protest halfheartedly, "Wyatt-"

But despite the emotional turmoil that he had to be feeling, he still read her like an open book, squeezing her hand and clarifying, "To the lab?"

"Oh," Lucy stuttered, caught off guard. She felt silly for it not having occurred to her that he could mean  _that_. Still it seemed… odd… to think of being invited into the process that would confirm whether or not he was the father of another woman's child. She wasn't quite sure how she felt about that. But she did know her own feelings for the man with pleading, red-rimmed eyes in front of her. And if he wanted her there, she'd be there. "Ok."

* * *

They did end up sharing a shower, albeit a wordless, utilitarian one, born of practicality and expediency, each of them lost in their own heads the whole time, each trying to process.

The trip to the hospital lab was equally silent save Lucy's mumbled offer to drive once they'd reached the small gap in the trees where Agent Christopher had hidden the couple of government vehicles at their disposal.

By the time they were seated in the terribly uncomfortable chairs of the phlebotomy waiting room, with the slow, agonizing tick of the clock next to the sign-in sheet the only other noise, Lucy was going to go nuts if one of them didn't say something.

"Did they say boy or girl?" she asked, choking out the first thing that came to mind in that second.

"No," Wyatt replied, his voice tight and hushed as he stared blankly at nothing. "I don't want to know anything."

The tense silence was back in full force right away, not broken again until someone poked their head into the waiting room and called out, "Wyatt Logan?"

In spite of her aversion to all things blood, Lucy followed when Wyatt beckoned her to accompany him, not knowing what else to do or what her role really was. He still didn't speak aside from answering the obligatory health questions the nurse asked, but he did reach to grip Lucy's hand just before the needle slid into the crook of his arm. And the nurse may not have known better, but Lucy did; Wyatt would normally not even bat an eyelash at a tiny wound from a needle that small. The tear that slipped down his cheek wasn't from the physical pain.

And for all the confused heartache she was feeling, Lucy knew it had to be a thousand times worse for Wyatt. Now, and for the 48 hours he'd now have to wait.

She didn't let go of his hand as they exited the hospital. At least not until they reached the car, at which point they slid numbly into their seats. Though Lucy, still the driver, didn't turn the car on right away.

What was she even supposed to want here? What was she supposed to think, or do? There was a  _baby_  inside that building, and if it  _wasn't_  Wyatt's, then it was… no one's? Was it terrible to wish that on a child? To wish that it was abandoned and orphaned? Was it terrible to want the whole thing to go away because Jessica had lied? Was it absolutely awful of her that part of her wanted everything to just go back to how it was with no knowledge of the baby simply because it would make her own life easier to not have to deal with it?

Pretty much, yeah, Lucy conceded to herself darkly.

But how on Earth would or could all of this possibly play out if the genetic test did link Wyatt to the otherwise parent-less infant? Would he actually take the baby? Give up the… well, she hesitated to call it a job, because really, who knew what this time-traveling, Rittenhouse-chasing, bunker-dwelling life they had really counted as. But would he give that up? Walk away from the cause they'd been sucked into fighting for however long ago? Walk away from _her?_ Try to find Jessica, in spite of her Rittenhouse ties, and somehow cobble together some semblance of the family they could have been?

He'd have to leave, at least, right? Leave the team, live a normal life away from the bunker? One in which she had no idea how she could possibly fit.

She bit back the tears that threatened at that thought. Not that any of her other thoughts were much more optimistic or reassuring when it came to how this shook out for her, or for Wyatt, or for her and Wyatt. Questions raced through her mind, and even though she had no idea how he could possibly answer any of them, the beginning of one eventually slipped out, "If it's yours-"

Wyatt cut her off sharply, the first words spoken in a while. "It's not."

"Wyatt," Lucy chastised with a defeated sigh. "It could be."

"It's not," he repeated, staring blankly at the dashboard.

"You slept with her," she countered with a wry half snort, zoned out and focused at a speck on the steering wheel.

She didn't mean it as anything but a blunt, offhand reminder of middle school sex ed, but Lucy was surprised to hear a sniffle from Wyatt. She tore her gaze from the nothingness she'd been staring at to find him tearing up, practically whimpering, "Lucy, I'm sorry-"

"It's not about that," she interrupted gently, but firmly. They'd been over that ad nauseam, however many months ago (she ignored the small voice reminding her that it had been about seven, just right for when Jessica had supposedly discovered she'd been pregnant…), when first starting to hash out what a relationship together would look like in the post-Jessica-is-Rittenhouse era-and-Wyatt's-actually-in-love-with-Lucy-anyway era.

Getting left behind so he could reunite with his wife had been the hardest thing she'd ever gone through, relationship-wise, by a longshot. One of the hardest she'd ever gone through, period, which was saying a lot considering the last two years. But she'd never been able to blame him for making that choice; she herself has pushed him away, toward Jessica. His  _wife_. There's really no other way that all could have worked out, but that fact hadn't stopped him from burying himself under a mountain of guilt and apologizing with practically every breath he took. To the point that, for as much as Lucy had wanted them to be together, he'd been inadvertently digging his hole deeper, picking at the scab over and over and making it that much more painful. It had taken her blowing up at him, begging him to just be able to put it all behind them and move on together, and insisting that she couldn't be with him if he couldn't do that to actually get him to stop. That, along with a few joint therapy sessions at Agent Christopher's suggestion, and they'd actually been good –  _really_  good – since then.

But apparently old habits died hard.

"It's  _not_ ," she repeated, reaching once again for his hand. But not holding him having slept with his wife against him, as much as she didn't like to think about it, still didn't make for any answers when it came to the more immediate issue. Stiltedly, Lucy reminded him, "But there's a  _baby_  in there that might be yours. If it is-"

"I don't know, I don't know, I don't know," Wyatt yelped, a frantic edge tingeing his voice, and one of the looming tears from his apology spilling over. "What do I know about taking care of a kid? And by myself?"

"You're not by yourself," came Lucy's automatic reply, though quite what she meant by it, in this frame of reference, she couldn't be sure.

"I should just… give it up," Wyatt said dismally, shaking his head in defeat. "Adoption. Someone would want it."

But, for as messy and complicated as his life would surely become, the notion of him willingly walking away from an innocent child, if it truly was his, was something that Lucy just couldn't wrap her mind around. "Wyatt…" she breathed, "could you really do that?"

His face crumpled and more tears spilled over almost instantaneously as he whispered a hushed, "No." And finally turning to face Lucy, he practically whimpered, "I don't want to lose you."

Lucy's eyes fell closed, and a lone tear slipped out down her cheek. The last thing she wanted was to lose him either, but if there was a baby… Well, she just didn't know. Because  _he_  couldn't know. He was in shock – they  _both_  were – and anything could still happen. For all she knew, when the dust settled, he could just as easily go back on that sentiment, leave her, and try to somehow be a family with Jessica.

But for the time being, unsettled as she felt, all she could do was be there for him as best she could. With a shaky breath, she fixed her gaze on him again, willing both of them to believe when she whispered insistently, "You won't."

Wyatt just looked at her incredulously. "But if it's… It's  _Jessica's_  kid," he blubbered.

" _Yours_ ," Lucy corrected with a watery sniffle.

That earned a flinch, followed by a skeptical protest of "But-"

"I love you," interrupted Lucy, promising, "I'm not going anywhere." Unless you want me to, she added silently.

* * *

The next day or so was tense, neither Lucy nor Wyatt doing much aside from puttering numbly around the bunker, the anxious monotony broken only by picking at meals here and there, or staring blankly at the TV, curled around each other, registering roughly zero of what flickered across the screen in front of them.

Lucy deferred to Wyatt on what to say, if anything, to the others; when he kept mum on the subject of Jessica and the paternity test, she too kept quiet.

She also kept quiet when his soft sobs woke her at night, his chest heaving under her cheek.

If she'd felt terrible in the car at the hospital, for wishing a parent-less existence on an innocent child, she felt a thousand times worse when she ended up feeling  _relieved_  that Emma had jumped to Pittsburgh in the spring of 1955, affording them the opportunity to distract themselves from the pending paternity results.

Distract themselves with ensuring the polio vaccine was still a success.

Because risking the health of millions of people was totally a good thing compared to having to contemplate what life would look like if your romantic partner suddenly had a surprise child with his estranged, not to mention criminal, evil, and other choice descriptors, wife.

Sure.

In the end, Salk still got his vaccine out, and Rittenhouse wasn't able to prevent him from doing so, nor were they able to secure a patent against his wishes. And Lucy's relief at  _that_  was enough to push the other… issue to the back burner.

Until they retreated to their room to find a voicemail awaiting Wyatt on his phone.

Lucy hung back, frozen as she watched Wyatt, his face pale and slack as he held the phone up with a shaky hand.

And when his face fell, his eyes tearing up immediately, she knew. She knew even without his dejected nod that dissolved into sobs as he hung up the phone.

Her heart ached. For Wyatt, so obviously struggling. For them, because who knew what lay ahead for them now.

And for his child, born into the world out of nothing but deceit, only to be abandoned by its twisted, corrupt mother.

She gravitated to Wyatt, folding herself into his arms wordlessly. And they both wept as they clung to each other.

Eventually, Wyatt leaned back away from Lucy, finally confirming it out loud. "He's mine."

Lucy sucked in a sharp breath.  _He_. Suddenly it was no longer just a generic, non-descript infant that they were dealing with. Wyatt had a  _son._  "A boy?" she asked, her voice strained.

He just nodded, swiping at the residual moisture near his eyes.

A little boy. The boy that Wyatt's real Jessica had wanted, Lucy realized, now left behind without a second thought by the traitorous version resurrected by Rittenhouse. "Did she name him?" she heard herself choking out, suddenly needing to know more about the little person that was half Wyatt.

"No," he replied, clearing his throat with a weak shake of his head. With a helpless shrug, he lowered himself to sit at the edge of their cot and added, "I don't know what-"

"You should go meet him," Lucy cut in gently. It wasn't ideal, but Wyatt now had a tiny little person out there to take care of. And however this ended up turning out, she had to be encouraging. For Wyatt's sake. And his son's.

With wide-eyed surprise, Wyatt looked up at her. He swallowed hard, then dropped his gaze with a solemn, resigned nod.

Lucy almost didn't hear him when, a beat later, a tentative "You too?" hits her ears.

In hindsight, she probably should have expected the request. But the notion of going to see the baby –  _Wyatt's_ baby – rattled her. As if the whole thing hadn't already left her rattled enough already.

But what could she do but agree? "Yeah," she replied, nodding numbly as she sank down to sit next to him. And not knowing what else to do, she wrapped herself around his arm, resting her head on his shoulder with a quietly echoed "Yeah…"

* * *

A few short hours later, they were at the hospital.

Not that either one of them had any reason to know the nuances of family law ahead of time, but it was pretty clear after Wyatt's mandatory meeting with lawyers and case worker from Child Protective Services that Rittenhouse must have greased the wheels for Jessica since giving birth. She should have needed multiple court dates, not to mention Wyatt's consent, to legally relinquish her rights, but between whatever pull Rittenhouse had had, in combination with exploiting a loophole or two in the Safe Haven law, the legal team present assured him that she was 100% out of the picture; for all intents and purposes, legal and otherwise, he was the boy's only parent.

Lucy, feeling more out of place than she'd ever felt – which was saying a lot considering the situations they so often ended up in as time travelers – remained silent nearly the entire time, letting Wyatt take the lead as she clung to his hand, offering the only support she knew how given the circumstances. She spoke up just once, nudging his knee and pointing out in a low voice that he should get his own lawyer to review all the information and make sure things were above board, especially if he really was going to go forward with taking the baby.

Which, to Lucy's ear during the meeting, it sounded, however tentatively and shakily, like he was going to do.

And terrible and selfish as it was, her heart was breaking at the thought; it likely spelled the end of them as a  _them_ , at least as they knew it. How could it not, if he'd have to be a full-time father, living a regular old life out in the world while she was left still tagging along through time with Rufus and Flynn? She'd promised she wasn't going anywhere, but she honestly didn't know what that would look like. How could she offer help with feedings and diaper changes if she was living in a bunker and getting whisked off to eighteen-thirty-whatever all the time?

Her mind only got so far with the dismal musings; the meeting drew to a close.

Between needing his own lawyer, not to mention the behind the scenes stacks of paperwork, permissions, and legalities, the whole process would take a few days, but in the meantime, a cheery nurse who had met them in the hall afterward said, Wyatt could come meet his little boy.

She led them to a non-descript room down the hall - seemingly like any old patient room except no beds. Instead, a couple rocking chairs, another couple of cozy armchairs, a changing table, pastel décor, plus a few scattered toy bins and tiny tables and chairs filled the sunny room.

The nurse disappeared again, presumably to go get…  _him_ , leaving Lucy to linger off to the side of the door, just barely in the room and not at all sure of her place in this whole fiasco, as Wyatt paced the middle of the room, looking tense and pale.

For a few moments, the only sound was his footsteps.

Until wheels could be heard rolling into the room.

They both spun to face the door, freezing at the sight of the nurse guiding one of those little clear bassinettes into the room. She headed in Wyatt's direction, nodding down at the little bundle it held.

Lucy's breath caught in her throat. She was too far to the side of the room to see much of anything aside from the blanket holding the baby, and the white of his little cap peeping out.

But she could see Wyatt, his gaze darting frantically in Lucy's direction for a split second; he looked as stunned as she'd ever seen him as he peered down at the infant.

It was the nurse who finally cut through the nervous tension, asking Wyatt gently, "Would you like to hold him?"

He nodded numbly and let her guide him over to one of the rocking chairs near the window. And just like that, she was easing the baby into his arms, reminding him to support the head. With a smile, she then slipped out of the room, mentioning that she'd give them a few minutes to themselves.

Still halfway across the room, Lucy felt like an intruder, but she couldn't help but stand there, frozen, staring as Wyatt gazed down at the tiny newborn, transfixed. Neither father nor son moved at first, but then a tiny fist came flying out of the loose swaddling. Wyatt chuckled, but at the same time sniffled and lifted one hand from under the baby to brush away the increasingly evident tears streaking down his stubbled cheeks.

"Hi, bud," he finally choked out, sniffling once more. And, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before once again focusing on the infant, he whispered, "I'm your dad."

Lucy had to wipe away her own silent tears as she witnessed the exchange. Wyatt was so clearly smitten with the little boy, and it was so sweet and touching to see him with the baby, but she couldn't deny the aching pangs of regret in her chest over the fact that she wasn't the one who'd had this child with him. They were in no position to consider such things yet anyway – and for all she knew they may not ever be, considering the uncertainty facing them now – but she couldn't help but mourn what would never be. She'd never be the one to make Wyatt a father for the first time.

Still… "He's beautiful, Wyatt," she heard herself whisper, creeping a tiny bit closer to try and catch a better glimpse of the baby, unable to deny the truth she'd spoken. They both were – a picture-perfect new family.

Wyatt jerked his head up in her direction, beaming, tears of joy in his eyes. It was bittersweet for Lucy; Wyatt was already the proud dad despite his earlier misgivings, smiling over at her, and she really  _was_  happy for him. Really. But there was no denying that it was only the beginning, and she was already feeling so much the outsider.

But not so much that she could refuse when Wyatt beckoned, reaching a hand in her direction. Threading her fingers through his, she allowed him to tug her nearer to the rocking chair.

Lucy let out a shaky breath once she was close enough to see the baby more clearly, and an even shakier one when Wyatt let go of her hand and gently ran a finger over the now-snoozing infant's tiny cheek as a prompt for him to open his eyes. He did, and it tugged at Lucy's heartstrings. The big blue eyes, the perfectly pouted lips – everything aside from the wisps of white-blonde hair peeking from beneath the tiny knit cap – it was all Wyatt. "He looks just like you," she managed to stammer in a hushed voice.

And when, hearing her voice, the baby blinked and squirmed to face her, Lucy mustered up a watery smile. "Hi, little guy," she whispered. "I'm Lucy."

She could sense it as soon as her name left her lips; Wyatt tensed, and for a split second she was terrified that she'd somehow overstepped her bounds by introducing herself to the baby.

But then Wyatt looked up at her, eyes red and shiny, but gaze soft. "Luce…" he started, his voice low and tentative. "I know we're just getting to a good place, me and you," he hedged. "But did you mean it? You're not going anywhere?" His questions had a shaky desperate edge to them as he continued, "You're in? Even with him?"

Taken aback, Lucy blinked hard at him, her mouth falling open in surprise. She hadn't been expecting that topic, not now. But even so, in spite of feeling like the ultimate outsider in this situation, and for all her trepidation about what this child would mean for their relationship, she wasn't quite ready to let herself imagine her life without Wyatt in it, baby or not. So she swallowed hard, nodding, "Yeah." And clearing her throat, she reaffirmed, "Yes," albeit somewhat hesitantly because she had no idea where he was going with the conversation.

Wyatt's wary, uncertain demeanor dissolved into a grateful, teary smile and he reached to lace his fingers through hers once more. With a solid squeeze of her hand, he turned back to the baby, and, in a gravelly voice thick with as yet unshed tears, he explained simply, "Lucy's your mom, buddy."

And with that same soft gaze, Wyatt looked back up at her expectantly, as if seeking approval for the phrase he'd just uttered.

Not that Lucy could manage an approval, or much of anything at all, at that point.

_Mom._

Her stomach was in knots, her last breath had caught somewhere in her lungs and wasn't quite kicking back into breathing mode yet, her heart was pounding so hard in her chest that she didn't feel like she could hear anything else, and everything blurred out of focus. Whether from tears welling in her eyes or verging on passing out, who knew; Lucy didn't. She couldn't process anything other than  _mom._

Since the confirmation that this tiny little person was indeed Wyatt's, and honestly, since the initial phone call that had raised the possibility, Lucy's brain had run through a million and one paths that she and Wyatt could end up taking if the child ended up being his. Best case? Dad's… girlfriend? Somewhat of a fixture, but mostly going their separate ways for much of the day, week, month as they lived their lives of toys and sippy cups and preschool while she flitted through history? Or just 'Aunt Lucy', that woman who they see every once in a while and sends presents on birthdays and Christmas, barely interacting with them? Or, worst case, just… nothing, having faded out progressively from their lives from the get go?

It  _had_  never, and  _would_  have never, not ever in a million years, occurred to her that she could ever possibly be  _Mom_  to this precious little person, that she'd ever, ever, be asked by Wyatt to become so intertwined with and integral to his son's life.

And maybe, she began to realize, still frozen, stunned, it was self-preservation that she hadn't allowed herself to venture down that path of possibilities. Had she ever entertained that notion herself, even for a second, she'd have been devastated beyond belief had he  _not_  ended up wanting to weave her right into his newfound tiny family.

But he  _had._

_Mom._

It was a title that something inside her had probably always ached to have, somewhere deep down, somewhere kept hidden away through graduate school, post docs, tenure preparation… time travel… lest the ever-increasing unlikelihood of it happening become too much of a wistfully sad presence in her life. A title that, at this point – though maybe visions had danced in her head the tiniest bit as she'd snoozed dreamily against Wyatt's shoulder in the breezy back of the car along the Pacific Coast Highway – she'd pretty well given up thoughts of entertaining, just trying to focus on the here and now with Wyatt as they worked their way back to each other. This? It's not how she ever thought  _Mom_  would happen – how could she have envisioned  _this?_  – if it ever did. But now it was here and it was staring her in the face.

And so was Wyatt, still looking up at her expectantly.

So Lucy managed a weak nod, still shaken by the turn of events.

Unfortunately, she clearly wasn't anywhere near convincingly enthusiastic for Wyatt; he dropped her hand, looking utterly crestfallen as he squeezed his eyes shut with a whisper, "Sorry, I-"

Lucy cut him off with a phlegmy sniffle and shake of her head. "It's ok," she choked out, knowing the last thing he needed right then was to think he'd done something wrong. "You're right," she added shakily, "I- He won't know her. I- I mean, it…" she stammered, "…makes sense."

Did it though? She couldn't help but wonder as she tried to convince him, yet feeling far less convinced than she was hoping she sounded.  _Did_ it make sense? Could she really be a  _mother_? Never mind just at all, but to  _him_? To Jessica's child? She knew, of course, rationally, that the tiny boy in Wyatt's arms had absolutely  _nothing_  to do with the awfulness his actual mother was tied up in or the pain that she had caused for her and Wyatt since resurfacing… well, since resurfacing about nine and a half months ago.

But could she really do it? Love and care for him like a mother should, when somewhere deep down in her subconscious she'd always know that he wasn't hers? That he was  _hers._ Jessica's.

She was terrified that she couldn't.

Lucy blinked hard, fighting back tears, and swallowed hard. "Wyatt, I don't-"

But the nurse chose that moment to pop back into the room, practically oozing a forced cheerfulness that was most certainly out of place in the room otherwise. And looking at Lucy, she cooed with a cloying smile, "Is dad hogging him? Would you like to hold him?"

Lucy's gaze went immediately to Wyatt, her eyes wide and hints of panic gripping her stomach.

But dammit it all if looking at Wyatt didn't mean once again taking in the breathtaking sight of him, already the doting father to his beautiful baby boy.

And she was being asked to be a part of their haphazard little patchwork family.

So she nodded, sniffling and wiping her eyes hastily, and allowed the nurse to lead her to the rocking chair just adjacent to Wyatt's. She watched apprehensively as the nurse then gingerly lifted the infant from Wyatt's arms to bring him to her.

And, oh, though not thirty seconds earlier she hadn't thought it even remotely possible, the instant that he was in her arms, any doubts evaporated and Lucy's heart nearly burst with the rush of overwhelming affection for the tiny, towheaded little boy. For Wyatt's son.

For their son.

For their family.

Her eyes welled up anew; he was absolutely perfect. And when he blinked up at her with a sleepy little yawn, tears streaked down her cheeks and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was so, so in love with him. And that he was her son. "I'm your new mom, baby," she whispered through the tears, "and I love you  _so_  much."

She hadn't even noticed Wyatt get up from his chair, but a strangled noise finally drew her attention from the baby. Wyatt knelt beside her, biting back his own sobs as he gazed up at her. "I love you, Lucy. You- I can't-" he stammered awkwardly, clearly so overcome that he couldn't form the words he was grasping for. "You're so amazing," he finally managed to choke out. "This," he added, reaching to stroke the baby's cheek, "after… everything."

Lucy smiled down at him through the tears. "I love you," she replied. "Both of you." Because it really was as simple as that. Because, now, looking at it from the other side, she could see so clearly how silly and unfounded her self-doubt had been. Because she and Wyatt had been through so much, come so far, and there was simply no way that they wouldn't raise this baby together as a family.

That in mind, she blinked away the tears and leaned down, needing to steal a kiss from Wyatt as he knelt there. But in leaning, she shifted the baby such that the movement elicited a fussy little whimper, so she sat back up immediately, alarmed. Thankfully, he settled right back down.

But the urge to be close to Wyatt – at least closer than him crouching on the floor next to her chair allowed – persisted. Her gaze landed on the armchair on the other side of the room. "Wyatt," she whispered, nudging him with her foot, "go sit."

Wyatt furrowed his brow at first, but upon Lucy glaring a little more insistently, hauled himself to his feet, wiped his eyes, and went to sit.

Careful not to jostle the baby too much, Lucy then cautiously stood, creeping over to where Wyatt sat, and, with Wyatt's hands guiding her waist and the baby's head, she eased herself onto him, curling up in his lap, their son nestled in their arms between them.

Wyatt hugged her close, and both of them gazed down at the snoozing infant for a few moments. Lucy still couldn't quite wrap her mind around the magnitude of the changes that had transformed – and would continue to transform – their lives since Wyatt answered the phone just a few days ago. It was overwhelming in some ways, but in others, she wouldn't have it any other way. And she wouldn't have it with anyone else.

Tilting her head, she nuzzled at Wyatt until his lips found hers, the kiss tinged with the salty remnants of their shared tears. When they parted, Lucy didn't go far, instead resting her forehead on his and taking a deep, shaky breath.

Wyatt inhaled a shaky breath of his own to mirror hers, but added a hesitant, "We can do this, right?"

Lucy pulled back and blinked, searching his expression for any sign of regret that he'd brought her into this, anything other than a mirror of the same excited, nervous, yet happy trepidation about becoming a parent that she felt.

She saw nothing but love. And that same trepidation, but mostly love.

"We'll figure it out," she promised in a hushed whisper.

Wyatt nodded stoically as he cradled the baby's head. But then he looked up with an incredulous chuckle. "We live in a bunker and travel through time. How?"

In spite of herself – and of the slumbering infant perched in the crook of her arm – Lucy burst out into a sniffley laugh. How, indeed? "We'll figure it out," she reiterated, running her thumb over the baby's soft cheek and trying to ignore the uncertainty facing them. They had to; there was really no other option. They were a family.

* * *

"Jessica wasn't lying," Wyatt blurted out. "She was pregnant."

Lucy gripped Wyatt's hand tightly, perched nervously on the edge of the bunker's uncomfortable couch, trying to read anything on Agent Christopher's face aside from the ever-present practiced stoicism.

For his part, Wyatt glanced hurriedly, confused, between Lucy and Denise, as if not sure what else to say. "He was born last week," he stammered. "He's mine. She…" he grappled for what to say, "…left." And, scrambling for his phone, he let go of Lucy's hand to scroll through the few photos they'd taken earlier while at the hospital. "We're getting custody," he explained, passing the phone to the agent and nodding at Lucy. "We're raising him."

Maybe it was the picture of the beaming new family smiling up at her from the tiny screen, maybe she'd just needed time to process, or that bit of additional explanation from Wyatt, but either way, Denise broke into a soft smile as she eyed the picture and then the two of them. "Congratulations," she said, her voice warm and sincere.

Which, while it didn't solve anything in the immediate sense, sent a wave of relief over Lucy. "Yeah, it's good," she said, smiling and nodding as she teared up and gripped Wyatt's hand once more. "Really good."

Wyatt nodded right along with her, but then gestured to their surroundings. "But, uh, this," he said with an apologetic shrug. "We can't… exactly live here. Do this," he rephrased. "With him."

Agent Christopher regarded them carefully, and Lucy couldn't help but shrink under her weighty gaze as she remained silent for a few moments. She was just grateful when she finally spoke, almost regardless of what she ended up saying.

"There are two separate issues here," Denise said in a level voice. "This," she pointed out, gesturing around them to the grim bunker surroundings, "and that," she added, with a wry, sidelong glance at the lifeboat. And, focusing back on the two of them, she continued, "I'm a mother. I couldn't imagine doing your job and taking on those risks. And I can't imagine either of my kids here as newborns." With a shrug, she pointed out diplomatically, "Maybe for you, it's both issues. Or not…"

Lucy looked over at Wyatt, frowning. They hadn't explicitly discussed those two things as separate issues; she'd just assumed anything and everything related to their current life would be impossible with the baby. With an encouraging squeeze to her hand from Wyatt, she explained haltingly, "We don't want to stop… after getting this far… Leave Rufus? Everyone else?" And she didn't,  _they_  didn't; until a few hours earlier, she couldn't have imagined their current crazy lifestyle ending any other way but finally taking down Rittenhouse. Now? "But how can we stay?" she pleaded rhetorically. "If something happens, then he… " she trailed off, her voice catching, not even wanting to go near contemplating that precious little boy being left behind by even more parents.

Wyatt squeezed her hand once more, taking over for her. "And the schedule?" he pointed out. "And a baby? Living here?"

Agent Christopher studied them further for a few moments. "So your issues are guardianship, scheduling childcare, and living here?" she asked, rather matter-of-fact. "Not necessarily the job itself and the inherent risks?"

With a quizzical glance exchanged with Wyatt, Lucy winced, replying tentatively, "Yes?"

"When do you take custody?" Denise inquired.

"They said it should be three days," Wyatt offered, sounding rather unsure about where the conversation had actually led them.

Agent Christopher nodded solemnly. "Talk to me in two days."

* * *

Still bewildered at what the conversation with Agent Christopher would come to mean for their life, and their son's life, Lucy and Wyatt agreed to keep the news to themselves for the time being. It was killing Lucy to not be able to share with Jiya, or Rufus, or even Connor or Flynn. It was  _such_  a big deal, and they'd all been there for the entirety of the drama that had led them to that point.

But she knew it was for the best; they needed to figure things out first.

So dinner with the group was subdued, and after gamely sitting through some perplexing superhero movie that Rufus and Jiya had put on the TV, Lucy nudged Wyatt in the leg, nodding in the direction of their room. Thankfully, he caught on quickly and the two of them slipped away to their room, bidding everyone else a stilted, early goodnight.

Once in the room, they changed into pajamas wordlessly, as if they both knew that a day like theirs had been required nothing more than simply holding each other in the quiet darkness. Which is what they did, Wyatt sliding under the sheets behind Lucy, tugging her close against his chest and burying his face in her hair at the back of her neck.

Lucy was just about to drift off to sleep when she heard him murmur, "He needs a name."

"Oh," she breathed. Right. She'd managed to push that part of the whole process from her mind since the nurse had prompted them for one as they were leaving the hospital earlier. Wyatt had demurred, saying that they needed to discuss it. But Lucy hadn't brought it back up, something about it seeming so, so…  _final_  about the whole thing. Like it would be that much more real once that tiny baby had a name. A name made him  _real._ A real little person that they were responsible for. It was a lot. But it was their life now.

"Um…" she muttered into the quiet room. "Any names in your family? Your grandfather?" she suggested, knowing just how important he'd been to Wyatt. "Or just something random? We can look onl-"

"Luke," Wyatt cut her off softly.

Lucy stiffened, confused, not 100% sure if she'd misheard him saying her own name as he merely tried to quell her rambling, or if he'd actually suggested a name so similar to hers.

"I want him to have… something of  _you,_ " Wyatt explained, hugging her closer.

But Lucy didn't feel right not looking him in the eye. Squirming to roll over in Wyatt's embrace, she sought out his eyes in the faint light that snuck in under their closed door. "Wyatt…" she protested softly, "You don't have to…"

"Yeah," Wyatt countered, his eyes shiny and sincere in the darkness. "I do. For me. And him."

His words and the sentiment behind them tugged at Lucy's heart. He'd already gone above and beyond her wildest expectations in terms of inviting her into his new life as a father, which had already done more than she could have hoped for in terms of assuaging her fears about what she would or wouldn't be to him and the child. Never in a million years would she have thought that he'd want to name the baby after her on top of everything else. But he sounded so sincere and insistent that she couldn't find it in herself to protest. Though she did have to stifle a small chuckle and wrinkle her nose, pointing out, "Luke Logan sounds like some old-timey reporter."

The laugh that earned from Wyatt was a beautiful sound after the stressful and emotional day they'd had. "Shouldn't you be able to be more specific than 'old-timey'," he teased, poking her in the ribs.

Lucy giggled, wriggling away from his attempt at tickling her, chiding, "Shut up." Then, biting her lip for a beat first, she tried out the name once more. "Luke Logan?"

She felt Wyatt freeze. "Hey," he acquiesced, "if you don't-"

But Lucy didn't even let him finish. "No, it's good," she assured him, already growing more and more attached to the idea of their little boy sharing her name. "I-" she choked out, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. "Thank you."

"I need him to have something of you," Wyatt explained, reaching up to stroke her face gently.

Lucy mustered up a watery smile under his hand. "No, I mean…  _Everything_ ," she clarified. "You didn't have to include me at all, never mind… you know," she squirmed, the word she was angling at still not quite something she was used to calling herself. "…being his …mother." The title tasted foreign even as is fell from her lips, even as she was so eager to take on the role.

She found herself being pulled tightly into Wyatt's arms once more. "I love you so much," he breathed against the top of her head. "And there's no way I could do this without you. I need you." His voice cracked when he added, "Luke needs you."

There were no words that she could muster to reply to a declaration like that; Lucy instead lifted her head from under Wyatt's chin, seeking out his mouth with hers until, for the first time since before the fateful call, he gently tugged the soft cotton of their clothing aside so they could show each other just how true those words were.

Lucy would never swear to it, because more than likely, it was just a dream, but she thought she caught, just as she was drifting off, cozy, sated, and beyond happy, in Wyatt's arms, a whisper of a murmur that sounded an awful lot like 'What about  _Lucy_  Logan?'

* * *

Lucy wasn't ultimately sure whether it was a good thing or a bad thing that legalities and custody issues and whatever it was that Agent Christopher was up to ended up going on behind the scenes while they were left to deal with the attempted assassination of the Pope in 1981. It was more than enough to distract them from most of what awaited them when the three days were up, but it also meant that they were practically slapped in the face with that new reality when they stepped out of the lifeboat back in the present.

The larger team debrief was short; the others were quickly shooed away by Agent Christopher. At which point she slid a file folder across the battered table towards Lucy and Wyatt.

"Witness protection identity documents," she stated tersely. "Deed to a house 40 minutes outside Duluth, Minnesota."

Lucy gaped, her gaze darting between the folder, Wyatt, and back to Agent Christopher. Wyatt seemed just as stunned, frozen beside her.

Swallowing hard, she reached to flip open the portfolio, and balked once more at the sight of passports, drivers licenses, social security cards, and a pile of other documents. Unease settled in her stomach when she fingered one of the licenses. Her photo. Kristen Peterson's name, whoever that was. Wyatt's read Nicholas Peterson, and she might have even felt a little thrill at living as a married couple were the whole prospect of being permanently undercover so unsettling.

She reached for a passport. Luke. But not Luke. Aidan. A name they hadn't given him, and how on earth had Denise gotten his picture for a passport anyway?

Lucy's stomach was in knots as she stared uneasily at the pieces of this new life they were supposed to live. And judging by the grip digging into her knee under the table, Wyatt wasn't exactly enamored with the situation facing them either.

"Or…" It was Agent Christopher who broke the tense silence, producing a second folder to push across the table at them.

Lucy jerked her head up from staring at Luke's –  _Aidan's_  – passport. With a wary glance over at Wyatt, she nodded at the folder, prompting him to open up whatever awaited them in that one.

She almost fell off her chair when it revealed snapshots of not only the other bunker residents, but pictures of Denise's daughter Olivia playing Vanna White next to a high chair, crib parts, what looked to be a rocking horse and a play kitchen, and a stack of boxes with 'clothes' and various ages scrawled on them.

Looking up, she eyed Denise with a desperately questioning gaze.

The Agent offered a the tiniest of smirks before replying, "Me, Jiya, Michelle. Three aunts – I will  _not_  be a grandmother yet; I'm not ready for that," she warned before continuing, "one cranky British uncle, one reluctant sixteen year old, and one very enthusiastic thirteen year old with her brand new Red Cross babysitting certification. Plus the rest of your time team and some slightly dated baby gear from said sixteen and thirteen year olds."

Flummoxed did even begin to describe how Lucy felt at hearing that. One glance at Wyatt revealed that he wasn't faring any better. Though at least he was able to stammer out a "Wha…?" while Lucy was silently numb.

"You can live here," Denise went on to explain softly. "I know, not ideal, I know," she conceded. "But Jiya and Connor are on board. I apologize for letting them in on your secret, but when you have to jump, the three of us can watch him," she explained. "If it's an overnight, he has a room at my home. If… well…" she shrugged, a tinge of melancholy in her expression, "Michelle and I would take him."

Tears blurred Lucy's vision for what felt like the millionth time in the past few days as she felt Wyatt pull her to him and press a kiss to her temple, sniffling through tears himself. Turning enough to look up at him was all she needed; she knew.

Facing Denise once more, Lucy leaned into Wyatt's embrace and nodded. "We'll stay."

* * *

Taken at face value, Lucy knew, it was absolutely insane – in.  _sane_. – that she and Wyatt were going to be raising their newborn child in a Cold War-era bunker.

A child that was technically the son of Wyatt's once-long-dead wife, who also happened to be one of the elite of the secret, evil, anti-establishment cabal they'd been fighting for over a year.

A child they hadn't even known about a week ago.

With a gaggle of other adults, one of whom was a murderous, revenge-driven, fugitive terrorist.

And only one outdated bathroom.

And a time machine.

And bugs. And probably a lot of mold. And possibly 1950s-vintage lead paint.

While retaining their current jobs as time traveling world-savers extraordinaire.

It didn't make  _any_  sense.

Except it  _did._ For them.

Still, Lucy was more than grateful that Agent Christopher was able to… do whatever it is that she did… to work with Wyatt's lawyer to not only ensure that Jessica's name and very existence was expunged from any and every record having to do with Luke, but to also fast-track an annulment of Wyatt's and Jessica's marriage even in her absence. Likewise, for Lucy, Denise was able to work some sort of behind-the-scenes magic to have the usual home visit for a non-married second parent adoption waived, because… well, because Cold War-era bunker. Because Wyatt had insisted on Lucy being an equal, legal parent, which would have been easier had they just married and been dealing with a step-parent adoption, but for as much as they were diving in head first with respect to raising Luke together, Lucy well knew that they –  _they_ , Lucy and Wyatt – were still not to that point. Yet.

But somehow, all of that, not to mention the moving in of Mark's and Olivia's old crib, bassinette, clothes, strollers, and toys, along with about a thousand boxes of diapers, wipes, bottles, formula, and a new car seat, had been accomplished in only two days.

Rufus and Jiya, for their part, offered to play musical bedrooms one last time, allowing the new little family of three to take over the room that had once been Jiya's and Lucy's , while the two techies got the smaller room that had been given by Connor to Lucy and Wyatt post-Jessica.

The group as a whole had also generously offered to give them a break - a couple weeks of ad hoc parental leave - in which the four that would jump whenever Rittenhouse reared its ugly head would be Flynn, Rufus, Jiya, and Connor.

So really, everything, or at least everything they could have thought of in the (very) limited time they'd had to become accustomed to the whole situation, was pretty much set.

Which left them with nothing to do but go pick up the actual baby.

The ride to the hospital, where Child Protective Services has kept Luke rather than go through the mess of paperwork that would have been necessitated by putting him with a foster for only a few days, was tense, filled mostly with Lucy chattering nervously about whether they had enough diapers, whether Wyatt and Rufus had installed the car seat correctly (even though Agent Christopher and Flynn, the only ones of the bunch with parenting experience, had assured her that they had), whether it was warm enough in the bunker for an infant, whether she'd remembered to set up all his vaccination appointments with the pediatrician that Denise had recommended… Really, anything was fair game with all the worries flitting through her mind.

And Wyatt, who, under any other circumstances where she'd have been that worked up and rambling anxiously, would have been talking her down from her frenzy, was mostly silent, concentrating on the road and offering up little more than grumbled and grunted 'yes' and 'no's.

Thankfully (or perhaps not so thankfully, considering the enormity of what awaited them), the ride to the hospital flew by rather quickly. Once there, Lucy grabbed their new diaper bag from the trunk, and that was that. Nothing to do but go inside. She took a few deep breaths and stole a glance at Wyatt, who didn't look like he was faring much better with the significance of the moment than she was. But Luke was waiting. So she slipped her hand into Wyatt's and gave a shaky squeeze, the best she could do in terms of reassurance when she herself was so full of trepidation over this huge step in their lives.

Once inside, the fanfare they were greeted with from the nurses and social worker was actually almost a welcome distraction from what was actually happening. It turned out that a number of the nurses in the newborn nursery had grown quite fond and protective of Luke, having known that he had been left alone by his birth mother. Of course they were all overjoyed when Wyatt had been tracked down, and not only that, that he brought with him, in Lucy, a new mom for the little guy, considering so few cases of abandoned infants turned out so well. And, Lucy was willing to bet, it hadn't hurt that Luke was objectively really, really adorable. Throw a first-time father that looked like Wyatt into that mix? Well, it had resulted in a few gifts for Luke from the nursing staff and an impromptu little 'going home' party.

Of course, that distraction could only last so long. There were other babies to be attended to, other tasks for the nurses to get back to, other cases for the social worker to work on.

Once the case worker declared all the t's crossed and i's dotted, with Wyatt clutching an envelope of paperwork that declared Luke 100% his and Lucy's, there was nothing else keeping them there. So Wyatt gathered up the gifts, bringing them down to the car while Lucy got a helpful lesson in the best way to secure Luke in the slingy-pouch thing that Agent Christopher had sworn was a lifesaver when it came to having free hands while still carrying him.

But Luke strapped to Lucy's chest for the walk out to the car just meant that he'd had just enough time to get settled and calmed when they had to take him right back out of it to put in the car seat.

Which brought whimpers and tears from the little week-old infant. And Lucy's heart almost broke for him right there; in the little time they'd been able to spend with him so far, he'd been amazingly content and well-behaved.

He only fussed at first when Wyatt lifted him from the carrier and transferred him back into Lucy's arms as the straps fell away. But when he, after readying the car seat buckles, plucked him back out of Lucy's embrace and settled him into the seat, Luke's little face grew red and the cries grew louder. None of which served to help Wyatt finagle the straps and buckles any more quickly.

Lucy hurried around to the driver's side of the car, climbing in the back seat from over there to attempt to help with the awkward, rear-facing seat. She was ever so grateful when, after just a few nudges to help Wyatt's shaky hands, everything was buckled and clipped and secured, with Luke also starting to calm just a bit. She reached for him, stroking his soft little cheek as she simultaneously nudged Wyatt.

"Thought you were supposed to be the pro at buckling people in seats," she murmured with a wan smile, still trying to calm Luke as she stole a sidelong glance at Wyatt.

Wyatt, even as he too was reaching for Luke, running his hand soothingly over his little tummy, rolled his eyes and snorted softly. "Only for you, babydoll."

Luke's fussing had quieted back down to intermittent whimpers, so Lucy and Wyatt extricated themselves from the backseat and gently closed the car's rear doors.

But with Wyatt having the keys and having offered to drive, they'd ended up on the wrong sides of the car. Meaning they met somewhere in the vicinity of the trunk on their way to their own sides. And without a word, they both just sort of fell into an embrace, melting into each other's arms as they instinctively sought out the comfort of the other.

"This is crazy, right?" Lucy mumbled against Wyatt's shoulder. "We can do this?"

A deep chuckle rumbled from within his chest. "Yes to both," he replied, his face buried in her hair.

They pulled apart with smiles, but Wyatt's attempt at reassuring her was short-lived.

Lucy saw the exact moment, after they'd both plopped down in their seats, just when he was about to turn the car on, that Wyatt's eye caught sight of Luke's car seat in the rear view mirror. Such a simple act – checking the mirror before backing out – now held a visual reminder of how very, very different their lives were from this moment forward. And that momentous difference very much explained the  _Oh, shit_  expression that had washed over Wyatt's face now that he'd caught up to the sense of trepidation she'd already been feeling in their hug behind the car.

Turns out his expression was a pretty good compliment to the  _Oh, shit_  series of knots in Lucy's stomach.

_Oh, shit_ , indeed.

A week ago, they'd only (only…) been dealing with combating Rittenhouse and re-building their relationship with as good a foundation as they could.

Now? Now they had a  _baby._ A tiny little person depending on them –  _them,_  they of the time traveling, the Rittenhouse-fighting, the amazing-but-still-somewhat-tentative relationship-building – for every single aspect of his little tiny life.

They were  _parents_. Together. She and Wyatt.

And Luke. No longer two, but three.

And that fact was possibly more terrifying than anything else they'd come across since that fateful day when Agent Kondo had showed up and changed Lucy's life forever.

Lucy swallowed hard and reached for Wyatt's hand, offering a squeeze of solidarity.

They could do this.

They were a family.

**TBC…**


	3. Epilogue: A few years from now...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks bunches to those who left comments so far :) And thanks again to  _qwertygal_  for edits/ideas.

 

**A few years from now...**

Lucy pauses and glances down to where she's gently running her hand over Luke's soft, still baby-fine hair.

His thumb is lodged firmly in his mouth and she's met with a sleepy blue-eyed gaze peering out from under increasingly droopy eyelids; the willful little guy still isn't quite asleep, even though she feels like she's a heartbeat away from dozing off herself.

She lets out an amused sigh. This is far from the first time that Luke has proven himself a worthy opponent to sleep, so even though she's already more than covered the 'getting him' tale that she'd promised, she figures maybe he's almost there, given the thumbsucking that only happens at bed time. Maybe a little story of exactly the same sort of sleep-resistant stubbornness he's still exhibiting might finally do the trick.

Not that Wyatt's back with the Tums yet anyway…

* * *

**A few months and a few days from now...**

Between learning of Luke's existence, finding out he was Wyatt's, and becoming their own little family (and extended bunker family), Lucy had shed many a tear in a very short span of time. But just a couple of days after bringing Luke home to the bunker, it wasn't her that was crying. Well, it  _was_ , and very nearly Wyatt too, but only out of pure frustration and exhaustion because little Luke was screaming his head off for the fourth night in a row – his fourth night in his new home with his mom and dad.

Both Lucy and Wyatt were at their wits end. They'd crammed and powered through all the books, scoured all the websites, and nothing was working. He didn't need a new diaper, he didn't want a bottle, he didn't want to be held, he didn't want the bassinette, he didn't want the bouncy seat thing, he didn't want to be sung to, he didn't seem to want  _anything._ He was so, so precious, and so, so loved by their little underground crew already, and he napped just fine during the day, but the minute anyone else in the bunker wanted to get some sleep, there was nothing –  _nothing_  – that would calm him down.

Three nights. Three sleepless nights so far, Lucy lamented as she bounced Luke in her arms, mentally pleading with him to quiet down. With a fourth one staring them in the face.

She loved the little guy, she really, honestly did. And she knew it wouldn't be this way forever. But she was just. So. Freaking. Tired.

The seemingly endless stream of baby vomit was just an added bonus; both she and Wyatt were sporting outfits streaked with the spit-up that seemed to accompany most of the crying bouts.

From over on the bed where he had been attempting to get some semblance of rest, Wyatt ran his hands over his face, snarling, "Would you just try the damned bottle again?"

The lack of sleep was not serving Wyatt well. Nor was it Lucy. "I did!" she snapped back in frustration, all the more frustrated because she hated that she was taking it out on Wyatt and he on her. But she just couldn't help it. "He doesn't want it! I don't know what he wants!" she wailed, tears streaking down her face even as she attempted to wipe Luke's bright red cheeks free of his own tears.

"Just… I don't- Ugh, fuck," Wyatt grumbled, hauling himself up and crossing the room to them. "Come on, kid, please?"

Lucy just sighed, knowing Wyatt's half-assed bargaining wasn't going to get them anywhere with a week-old baby. "You should sleep," she said wearily, knowing that Connor and Jiya weren't going to be able to be stand-ins for them on the jumps forever. "I'll take him… somewhere," she shrugged, hugging the wailing infant closer to her.

"And wake everyone else up?" Wyatt snarked. "Sounds great."

"What do you want me to do, Wyatt?" Lucy snapped harshly as Luke wailed louder. "I can't-"

Wyatt's shoulders slumped in defeated remorse at her tone. "Fuck, I'm sorry," he apologized, even as he stifled an obvious yawn. "I just- Here, gimme," he sighed sleepily, reaching for the baby. "Come on, bud, it's bed time. Please? Please shut up?"

It took approximately three seconds before Luke's screeching grew even louder. Wyatt pacing the length of the small room with him didn't do anything to lessen the volume.

Lucy rubbed at her temples, eventually just groaning and stretching her arms out to take the baby once more. "Forget it, just-" she grumbled, resituating Luke in her arms. "You go sleep on the couch. One of us should." And nodding in the direction of their bedside table, she instructed through gritted teeth, "Gimme the bottle."

Wyatt scoffed, exasperated. "You just said-"

"I know what I said," Lucy hissed nastily, though the animosity quickly faded to helplessness as she whimpered, "But I don't know what else to do!"

Yet another curse had just slipped from Wyatt's mouth when the door to their room burst open, revealing Rufus in pajama pants and a hoodie, wearing a scowl and looking exhausted and none too amused by the noise.

Which just served to make Lucy feel all the more helpless and hopeless and exhausted.

Nearly crying again, she apologized profusely to Rufus, "I am so sorry… We can't- He just won't stop," she sniffled. "We're trying everything, and I know-"

She was quieted by a silent hand held up by Rufus. And without a word from him, or any of them – other than Luke's wails – Rufus crossed the room to where Lucy stood with Luke in her arms.

And not even bothering to address Lucy or Wyatt, Rufus leveled with the tiny baby. "Kid, I am just as upset as you about the crap casting for the new Star Wars movie," he said calmly, ignoring Luke's cries and positively mystifying Lucy. "So we are going to go have a chat about that," Rufus continued. "Far away from here. So your parents can sleep," he added.

Lucy couldn't help but stand there, stunned, staring in disbelief as her friend carefully plucked her son from her arms, all the while rambling on about  _Star Wars_  of all things.

"Yeah, mom and dad don't care about Star Wars, do they? They don't get it." Rufus quizzed Luke as he adjusted him carefully into the crook of one arm. Luke screeched louder in response. "I know, I know, I can't believe it either," Rufus acknowledged, giving Luke an extra little pat on the backside.

And the next thing Lucy knew, Rufus was using his free hand to wheel Luke's bassinette out of the room, snatching up the diaper bag on the way. She hadn't even been able to splutter in disbelief yet when he, Luke in hand, ducked back into the room to snatch the bottle from Wyatt's hand.

Luke's wails faded from down the hall, and then… nothing.

She turned to Wyatt, who looked equally as flabbergasted as she felt. "Wha-?" he murmured.

Lucy shook her head, not quite sure what had just happened and if they should really let Rufus take on what was proving to be the thankless task of caring for Luke at night. "Do- do we…?" she stammered, really unsure of what to do.

With a sleepy chuckle, Wyatt finally tore his gaze from the door that Rufus had exited through with their tiny son and headed for Lucy, his expression contrite.

Equally as sheepish and apologetic for the heated snapping at each other, Lucy folded herself into his arms with a worn-out sigh. She smiled weakly when she felt Wyatt press a sweet kiss to the top of her head, but, worried, she looked up, wondering, "You think he's really ok with him?"

"I-" Wyatt started, but then apparently thought better of it, shrugged, and led her over to their small bed. "Let's just sleep while we can," he urged, tugging her down with him.

So they did, curled up together, spit-up stained clothes and all.

At least until Rufus hit his limit and deposited Luke and his bassinette right back in their room at about 4 am.

* * *

**A few years from now...**

"...and that's why you still sometimes have sleepovers with Uncle Rufus and Aunt Ji-"

Lucy pauses, catching a glimpse of Luke and she can't help but smile.

The thumb has fallen to the wayside, his mouth is wide open, and his long lashes rest on his cheeks; he's finally out.

She still strokes his soft hair ever so slightly, unable to keep herself from studying the perfect little boy snoozing on her stomach.

As it turns out, despite how much he'd looked like Wyatt in those early days – and he does still look like him,  _so_  much, there's no mistaking that – but the chubby baby features have started to mature a little bit, and to those who know, there's also no mistaking that the hint of an upturned nose, the subtle purse of his little mouth sometimes… It's Jessica.

Except it's not. Because to Lucy? It's not Jessica. It's  _Luke_. And she wouldn't want him any other way.

She smiles to herself again, letting her own eyes drift closed and leaning back on the pillow still perched behind her head.

Really, she can't imagine any of it having gone any other way.

It hadn't been easy. The screaming-through-the-night issue eventually worked itself out, but still, knowing they had to leave him for those jumps? The surreal feeling of seeing Wyatt gathering up ammunition as she squeezed in one last bottle feed of their little boy before they ran off into the unknown to fight Rittenhouse? With all the danger that went along with it? Not to mention the terrifying diseases of the past that they could bring back to him? And even on off days, to be raising him in the dark, dank bunker? To have to be even more careful than most parents when he started sticking things in his mouth, knowing that however many extra dangers lurked, leftovers from decades gone by? To miss his first word because you were off in 1812 trying desperately to prevent Rittenhouse from trapping and killing any additional people in a freak earthquake on the Mississippi River? To see his first wobbly toddle over to Wyatt, but with a backdrop of Rufus and Connor right behind them, repairing gunfire damage to the Lifeboat?

Thankfully, it hadn't been long after those first tentative steps across the grimy bunker floor that they'd finally –  _finally_  – gotten ahead of the game, outsmarted Emma, fatally wounded her, abandoned her lot of goons in the frontier of Quebec in the 1600s, and destroyed the Mothership.

And suddenly, just like that, they'd been left with an oddly normal life. Mason set out to rebuild his enterprise, and Wyatt opted to leave the military and stay on with Mason as head of security. Lucy mostly stayed home with Luke, except those five or so hours a week when she enlisted Olivia's babysitting help after school so she could go teach a late afternoon course at the nearby community college.

And they got married. Of course. Really, Lucy had been more than ready before Luke had reached even six months old, but having still been chasing Rittenhouse at the time, it hadn't quite made sense. But she and Wyatt had ended up with the same idea, and their first night in their new house had wound up an amusing amalgamation of dual surprise proposals. Luke was the ring bearer in the small, simple wedding the next month, and pretty much right away, she and Wyatt were taking advantage of scheduling those sleepovers for him with Uncle Rufus and Aunt Jiya. With Luke already a year and a half, and both their ages already well north of 35 – hers further than his – they hadn't wanted to waste any time when it came to expanding the family.

Of course, nothing had ever been easy for them, but…

Things are good now, Lucy sighs happily, one hand on Luke's head, the other resting on her rounded stomach. So good.

The next thing she knows, she's blinking awake to Wyatt smoothing her hair where it had been mussed against the pillow. He's eyeing Luke curiously, and she can see the jumbo bottle of fruity, chewy Tums in his other hand as he balances himself in a crouch next to the couch.

She practically purrs in contentment as she shoots him a soft, sleepy smile.

"Hey," he whispers, grinning right back.

But Lucy postpones a reply, instead reaching to pull him in for a kiss. It's still rather chaste, but she lingers, smiling against his lips until she pulls away just enough to murmur, "Hey."

Wyatt's still running his fingers through her hair with a goofy, loving grin at first, but then he leans back and focuses on Luke, concern setting in on his face as his brow furrows. "Everything ok?" he asks, his voice low as he eyes the sleeping four year-old.

She nods, swiping the Tums from Wyatt's grip as she does. "Just a little bout of big brother anxiety," she assures him. She pauses mid-fight with the antacid packaging and, after a beat, rephrases thoughtfully, " _Half_ -brother anxiety, actually."

But Wyatt just frowns further and looks less than convinced as he gives Luke another worried once-over.

"He's ok," Lucy insists softly, popping couple Tums in her mouth. "We talked, and we're good." Closing the bottle, she sets it next to her and reaches for Wyatt instead. "Most of it is stuff he's heard already," she adds, running her thumb over his cheek.

A grin breaks out under her palm, evidence enough for her that he's finally convinced. But Wyatt goes a step further and pulls her hand over a bit, then presses a tender kiss to Lucy's palm. "Good," he murmurs.

And between that low rumble of his voice, the blue of his gaze boring into her eyes, and the misty-eyed amble down memory lane that she'd just taken with Luke, only a hand on Wyatt's cheek isn't enough; she needs to be closer.

So, trying to brace Luke against her, Lucy tries to prop herself up to a sitting position so she can get up and not wake Luke on the way back to his room. Of course, she's never been the most graceful, and with a growing stomach taking up ever more territory, she mostly ends up flailing in futility, ending up with Luke sprawled even more awkwardly across her.

Wyatt just shakes his head and chuckles, stilling her with a hand to her shoulder. "I got him." He gingerly scoops Luke up off her and into his arms, cradling the zonked-out preschooler against his hip as he nods down to Lucy. "What about you?" he inquires in a whisper. "You down for the count too?"

Now, Lucy will forever blame the pregnancy and the tale she'd just narrated to Luke, but really, it's nothing more than the sight of Wyatt being the best of fathers to their son that gets her tearing up. She'd have thought that after over four years, she'd be a little less overwhelmed by the sight of the two most important men in her life together. But nothing has changed since she watched that nurse place a newborn Luke into Wyatt's arms at the hospital for the first time. She just loves him that much more than she'd ever thought possible. Needs him. Wants to wrap herself in his arms.

"I'll be right up," she replies, watching wistfully as her boys head for the stairs and absently pops another couple of Tums.

What she  _can_  blame on the pregnancy? That that sentiment is currently taking on the form of not just wanting to be close to Wyatt, but to be in bed, on top of him, naked. A few times. Heartburn be damned. Some whacked-out primal urge to keep mating or something, in spite of already being pregnant.

Sitting up, she can't help but giggle to herself at how nuts that sounds and just how all over the place her emotions and urges are lately. "These hormones are making me crazy," she mutters to herself, grabbing the Tums and standing up.

She's not expecting a reply. But the hushed snort she hears from halfway up the stairs is what she gets, along with a smirk and a pointed "Crazy  _horny_ …" mouthed over top of Luke's head.

Lucy flushes, feeling the slightest twinge of embarrassment at not only being even  _more_  insatiable than she usually is with Wyatt – already more than she'd ever been used to in previous relationships – but at having been called out on it. Still… "I don't hear you complaining," she shoots back.

Wyatt just lifts an eyebrow suggestively and adds, "No, ma'am," before continuing on his way to deposit Luke in his own room, possibly a little more urgency in his step as he scales the rest of the staircase two at a time.

Smiling to herself, her heart full and content, Lucy's right behind him.

* * *

**A few years and a few months from now...**

Sex is the furthest thing from Lucy's mind roughly three months later, though her heart is impossibly even more full.

Earlier that day, little Samantha Celeste Logan made her debut into the world.

(After a horribly long labor in which she did  _not_  feel quite so little, but Lucy's not going to hold that against her. At least not until she's a moody teenager.)

Wyatt had been her rock through the whole ordeal, and for as moved as she'd been when they'd met Luke for the first time, seeing Wyatt cradle their little girl for the first time, tears streaming down his face, might have the tiniest of edges on that earlier moment.

Though that notion lasts only until, after a bit of mother-daughter bonding time, Lucy hears a soft rap on the door to her room, followed by Wyatt poking his head in. "You guys awake?"

Peering down at the little bundle in her arms, Lucy nods, smiling at the way the little girl already seems to be so alert and studying her surroundings so seriously.

"Three out of four then," Wyatt sighs, entering the room fully, only to reveal a passed-out Luke hoisted up against his side. "You can thank Aunt Jiya and Chuck E. Cheese for this," he explains, rolling his eyes and nodding down at the almost-five-year-old.

Sure, she's a little disappointed that Luke isn't awake yet to meet his little sister, but it still tugs at Lucy's heart to have her two babies in the same room for the first time. "Here," she gestures to her pillow, shimmying further towards the foot of her bed, still cradling the baby. "Just put him here. I'm actually feeling… ok, and I kind of want to just try to stand up for a while."

Wyatt eyes her skeptically, wincing. "You sure?"

Lucy doesn't blame him for doubting her, all things considered. She's pretty sure some not-so-choice language was flying out of her mouth this way and that to describe the pain during the height of the labor, but now she's just been lying there for hours at this point and she's feeling like getting her legs back under her.

So she just assures him it's ok with a nod, and Wyatt eases the slumbering Luke down onto her pillow as she sits perched at the end of the bed with Samantha, who keeps quiet amidst the fuss save for a few little whimpers here and there. Wyatt gently tugs Luke's little sneakers off and tucks him in before going to wash off his hands.

Once he's back, Lucy nods in their daughter's direction. "Here, take her," she murmurs, not quite trusting her legs enough yet to mosey anywhere with the baby in her arms.

But of course, Wyatt's not going to complain. Lucy can see him get teary-eyed all over again as he presses a kiss to her little head, cooing, "Hi, baby girl," and Lucy's already a million percent sure that he's going to let her get away with murder as she gets older; he's already wrapped around her tiny little finger.

Not that she can judge; she has to swipe a few tears from her own cheeks as she watches them, and it has nothing to do with the pain as she hobbles over to the armchair that Wyatt sits down in. Hovering behind the chair, she's perfectly happy to just rest her chin on Wyatt's head and gaze down as their perfect little girl dozes on and off.

Until a little voice breaks the contented quiet.

"Mommy?"

A warm tug at Lucy's heart set in as she spun around to find Luke rubbing his eyes sleepily in her bed. "Hey, sweetie," she exclaims, hurrying over as fast as her body will allow. She pulls him into a tight hug, not having seen him for over a day. She sneaks a quick kiss to his cheek before prompting, "I heard you had fun at Chuck E. Cheese."

He nods excitedly, "Uh huh, and I-" But he stops short, and though Lucy follows his gaze, she already knows what has him stumbling over his words. It's one thing to tell him what's on the way, but it's another for him to see it. Suddenly he's clinging to her arm, pulling her down to sit next to him and shrinking shyly behind her, hiding from Wyatt and the little pink bundle in his arms. "Is that…"

"This is your baby sister, bud," Wyatt explains, standing and inching closer to the bed. "Samantha. And she's really excited to meet you," he adds, stretching the truth just a bit, because even from her perch on the bed, Lucy can see that the infant is fast asleep.

Luke creeps out from behind her ever so slightly, peering over her shoulder with some mix of skepticism and curiosity.

"Do you want to hold her?" Lucy coaxes carefully. "You're her big brother."

And if that little boy had ever been more like Wyatt than right then, Lucy can't think of when. And it it's so sweetly adorable; his little face grows serious with the burden of the responsibility of being that big brother, and with the weightiest of sighs for a four and a half year-old, he acknowledges that responsibility with a nod and a solemn little, "Ok."

Juggling the two children with an ease that Lucy can only hope follows them into the coming months and years, Wyatt hands Samantha off to Lucy and then scoops Luke up. "Let's wash your hands real quick, bud."

Lucy can't tear her eyes from her little girl, who's letting out the sweetest of tiny little yawns and blinking herself awake, but can hear even over the sink running in the bathroom Luke's little voice pipe up, asking, "Samantha?"

"Yup," Wyatt confirms. "Sound ok to you?"

"Daddy, that's a long name," she hears Luke reply pensively. "I have a short name."

"Well," Wyatt explains as he emerges from the small bathroom with Luke's hand in his, leading him back to the bed, "she can have a shorter name. You can call her Sam. Or Sammy," he adds as they reach the bed. "Ok, up again," he instructs, hefting Luke up and placing him against the pillow at the head of the bed. "Ready?"

Luke nods, eying the baby in Lucy's arms apprehensively.

Meeting Wyatt's gaze and shooting him a soft smile, Lucy ever so carefully eases the baby, still swaddled up, down next to Luke, propping her up next to him with his little arm wrapped around behind her. "Be careful," she murmurs, reminding him, "You have to be gentle. She's little."

But the gentle warning is unnecessary; Luke holds Samantha just perfectly, studying her closely as he peers down at her. For her part, Samantha almost seems to study him right back, blinking up at Luke.

And then…

"Sammy, I'm Luke," he informs the baby oh-so-seriously. "I'm your big brother. And we have the best mommy and daddy ever."

In that moment, with Wyatt hugging her from behind, their children together for the first time, Lucy knows that  _this_  is the best moment. Not finally reuniting with Wyatt after Jessica, not meeting Luke, not seeing Wyatt with Sammy, but  _this_. It's  _perfect._

She grips Wyatt's hand tightly where it's wrapped around her, and she knows he feels it too. She's weeping, and he's not even trying to hide that he's doing the same, his chin resting on her shoulder.

It's  _perfect._  Luke is perfect, Sammy is perfect. She may have wisps of darkest brown curls and hints of Lucy's delicate features where Luke has that sandy, golden mop, but there's no mistaking the shared genes in those big blue Logan eyes on both of them.

(And yes, regardless of what everyone says about baby eyes changing color, Lucy and Wyatt are quite sure Sammy's stay the same clear blue as her big brother's and her daddy's.)

Lucy may well have thought at other times in her life that her heart was about to burst, but none compared to this. She's so in love with Wyatt, their children, their family.

It's not what she'd expected when she'd taken the tenure track position at Stanford, and it's not what she expected when Agent Kundo whisked her away from home in the dark of night. It's not what she expected when the cocky asshole across the room could barely be bothered to open his eyes and sit up straight to address her. It's not what she expected in Arkansas, or World War 1, or Hollywood. It's certainly not what she expected when she got that fateful phone call before Salem or what she expected when he'd dropped the bomb about his wife being pregnant or when he'd dropped the other bomb of still being in love with her. It's not what she expected when they themselves hopped out of the lifeboat – and the future – a future they would never come to live, it seemed. And even when Wyatt had gotten that first call about Luke, she's not sure that she could have ever expected any of it _._

But Lucy wouldn't trade what they got.  _This_. Not for anything in the world.

**FIN**

* * *

"We laugh and laugh, and nothing can ever be sad, no one can be lost, or dead, or far away: right now we are here, and nothing can mar our perfection, or steal the joy of this perfect moment."

― Audrey Niffenegger,  _The Time Traveler's Wife_


End file.
